online community focused on sharing and reminiscing about video, audio, and images that stir our memories of the past – old television, theme songs, commercials, print advertisements, the sights and sounds you remember
Thumbelina was introduced by Ideal in 1961 and quickly became one of those baby dolls that stood out because she actually moved. The original was a wind-up doll, and once wound, she would wiggle and squirm like a real baby, making her feel more lifelike than many dolls of the time.
Thumbelina stayed popular through the 1960s and into the 1970s, with different sizes and versions along the way. Then in 1992, the name was brought back with Tyco’s Twinkling Thumbelina, but that version was updated for its time as a battery-operated doll rather than the original wind-up style.
For many, though, the classic 1960s Thumbelina is the one they remember best — the baby doll that moved just enough to make a child believe she was almost real.
With four other brothers to keep busy, Mom and Dad scored big with all of us when they brought home the Carry-All Action Playsets by Marx. These kept us entertained, and probably more importantly, quiet for hours.
You had to be careful with the pivot joints and mounting points, but other than that, these playsets could take a lot of abuse. I had Fort Apache, and one of my younger brothers had the Fighting Knights set.
Surprisingly, my Marine sergeant dad did not get us the Army Men set, but it did not matter much. No matter which one you had, these Carry-All playsets brought hours and hours of fun.
The Slinky was just a coil of metal, but once you put it at the top of the stairs, it became magic. It could walk, stretch, flop, twist, and occasionally tangle itself into something no child on earth could ever fully fix.
Invented by accident in the 1940s, the Slinky became one of those toys almost every kid knew. You did not need batteries, a screen, or instructions. You just needed stairs, patience, and maybe a little luck.
And who can forget the jingle? “It’s Slinky, it’s Slinky…” Once that got in your head, it stayed there.
Did you have a Slinky? And did yours actually make it all the way down the stairs?
With all it could do, there were still many other toys I wanted more. I remember seeing the commercials and thinking it looked impressive, but I wasn’t sure it would live up to the way it looked on TV.
Secret Sam was a Topper Toys spy set from the mid-1960s, right when James Bond, The Man from U.N.C.L.E., and secret-agent gadgets were everywhere. The big item was the Secret Sam Attaché Case, a black briefcase that hid a toy gun setup inside. It could be used as a pistol, converted into a rifle, fitted with a silencer, and even fired from inside the case. Some versions also had a message missile and a small working camera.
So did it live up to expectations? Probably yes if you were deep into spy play and had a good imagination. But if you expected it to work exactly like a TV spy gadget, maybe not. Like a lot of toys from that era, the commercial did most of the heavy lifting.
Looking back, Secret Sam was the kind of toy that looked incredible under the Christmas tree, but the real fun depended on how much secret-agent adventure you could create around it.
Many of you asked about these when I posted the Hot Wheels advertisement. So now I have to ask: which did you have? Hot Wheels, Matchbox, Speedline, or all of them?
Speedline race cars were part of that late-19660s toy-car boom, when every company wanted a piece of the racing action. Hot Wheels had the orange track and wild colors, Matchbox had the more realistic little cars, and Speedline tried to get into the race with its own fast-looking cars and track sets.
They never became as famous as Hot Wheels, but that’s what makes them fun to remember. Some kids had the big names. Some had the off-brand or lesser-known racers. And honestly, when you were on the floor setting up races, it didn’t always matter what brand was stamped underneath. If the car was fast, it made the lineup.
For a lot of us, these little cars were more than toys. They were races across the living room, arguments over whose car won, and the beginning of a car collection before we even knew we were collecting.
The Suzy Cute doll commercial is one of those 1960s toy ads that makes you stop and say, “Wait, is that really Louis Armstrong?”
Yes, it is.
The commercial was for Topper Toys’ Suzy Cute doll, part of the company’s Suzy line. After Armstrong’s huge 1964 hit “Hello, Dolly!”, Topper’s Henry Orenstein apparently thought, “Who better to sell a doll than the man singing about Dolly?” Armstrong filmed and recorded the spot on January 6, 1965, shortly after returning from a major overseas tour.
The ad has Armstrong singing and performing with a group of little girls while promoting the doll. What makes it so charming, and a little surreal, is that Armstrong does not phone it in. The Louis Armstrong House Museum notes that even the full unused take of the jingle shows him treating it seriously, scatting, encouraging the band, and even playing trumpet during the extended recording.
That is what makes the commercial so memorable today. It is not just a toy ad. It is one of the greatest jazz legends of all time giving full Louis Armstrong energy to a tiny baby doll commercial.
Only in the 1960s could a toy company say, “Let’s get Satchmo to sell Suzy Cute,” and somehow make it happen.
The idea was great: give Barbie a haircut, style her hair, curl it, and somehow keep the fun going without ruining the doll forever. Of course, commercials always made these toys look effortless. At home, I’m guessing it depended on patience, steady hands, and whether Barbie’s hair ended up looking salon-ready or like she had just lost a fight with a brush.
But here’s what I really want to know: Did you have Barbie Cut ’n Curl? Did it actually work the way the commercial showed?
And even better, did any of you start by cutting and styling Barbie’s hair and later end up becoming a hair stylist, barber, or working in cosmetology? Sometimes those childhood toys really did point us toward what we’d do later in life.
It was great the first day you got the track, but the fun didn’t stop there. A new car didn’t cost all that much, even for a kid, and suddenly the whole race changed. One new car meant new matchups, new winners, new arguments, and another reason to reset the track and try again.
Hot Wheels were introduced by Mattel in 1968, created to compete with Matchbox, but they had a completely different attitude. Matchbox cars looked more like regular cars you’d see on the road. Hot Wheels looked like something a kid dreamed up: wild colors, big wheels, racing stripes, spoilers, flames, and hot rod styling. The first line is remembered as the “Original 16” or “Sweet 16.”
And they were fast. That was the magic. Mattel built them with low-friction wheels and axles, wider hard-plastic tires, and a suspension design that helped them fly down those orange plastic tracks smoother than other little cars of the time. The Strong National Museum of Play notes that Mattel engineers wanted them to “zoom,” using thick plastic mag wheels, minimal-friction axles, and torsion-bar suspension.
Then came the tracks. If you got a new setup, like the one with the Super Charger, it worked with the track you already had. That was the genius of it. You didn’t have to start over. You just added on. A curve here, a loop there, a launcher, a jump, and suddenly your living room floor became Daytona, Indy, and a demolition derby all at once.
Looking back, Hot Wheels were a great value because every piece made the whole thing better. One car could change the race. One track set could change the whole afternoon. And for a kid, that little orange track and one fast car were enough to make the whole room feel like a speedway.
Nothing gave me more fun and joy as a child than playing in the backyard with my Buddy L trucks.
The early Buddy L trucks were made from heavy pressed steel, which made them feel like real construction equipment shrunk down for a kid. The brand started with the Moline Pressed Steel Company in East Moline, Illinois, founded by Fred Lundahl, whose company originally made automobile and truck parts before moving into toys in the early 1920s.
The name Buddy L came from Lundahl’s son, Arthur, whose nickname was “Buddy.” The story goes that Lundahl made a sturdy toy truck for his son using the same kind of steel his company worked with, and it turned into something much bigger. By 1921, Buddy L trucks were being produced as toys, and they quickly became known for being big, tough, and realistic. Over the decades, the brand changed hands several times. By the 1990s and early 2000s, Buddy L had been sold through different companies, and the original manufacturing era was over.
That is what made them so special. A Buddy L dump truck, fire truck, wrecker, steam shovel, or delivery truck did not just sit on a shelf. You took it outside. You loaded it with dirt, rocks, sticks, sand, and whatever else you could find. You built roads, dug holes, made construction sites, and probably scratched the heck out of the paint without caring one bit.
For a lot of us, Buddy L trucks were not just toys. They were backyard equipment. They had weight, they had metal, they had working parts, and they made you feel like you were running the whole job site. Long before video games gave kids virtual worlds to build, a Buddy L truck, a patch of dirt, and a little imagination were all we needed.
Looking back, that is probably why they are so collectible today. They remind people of a time when toys were built like the real thing, and when a kid could spend an entire afternoon outside with one truck and never be bored.
Back when G.I. Joe wasn’t something you could lose under the couch in five seconds… it was a full-blown 12-inch soldier you could actually hold onto. That’s what I grew up with. My dad was a Marine, so yeah, there was no question I was getting one. But let me tell you, on a Marine’s pay, those accessories might as well have been locked up in Fort Knox (with Joe guarding it). You made do with what you had… and honestly, it didn’t matter.
Now here’s something people don’t always think about… G.I. Joe first came out in 1964, and not long after, the mood in the country started shifting. You started hearing more anti-war sentiment as the years went on. They didn’t dwell on it in the toy aisle, but you could feel the change happening in the background.
And yeah… they were already calling it an “action figure” when I got mine, I think it was 1966, and I remember that so well because my older brother wasn’t buying it. Not for a second. He kept busting me, telling me I was playing with dolls. And I’d fire right back every time, “It’s not a doll, it’s an action figure!” Didn’t matter how many times I said it… I wasn’t winning that battle.
Because those big Joes just felt right. These weren’t little plastic guys either. They were about a foot tall and had real cloth uniforms you could swap out (my wife is ribbing me just now, saying she was able to do that with her Barbie and Ken dolls). If you were lucky enough to have the gear, you could outfit them for just about anything. And they took off like a rocket. First year, around 16.9 million dollars in sales. Next year, over 36 million. That’s big money for back then. These things were everywhere… every kid knew what G.I. Joe was.
Now I get why they eventually made them smaller. Those big figures weren’t cheap to make, and by the 70s, things were changing. Then Star Wars hit in ’77 and flipped the whole toy world on its head. Smaller figures, vehicles, playsets… suddenly, you could build an entire world instead of just having one guy. From a business standpoint, it made total sense. Cheaper to make, more to sell.
But here’s the thing… it just wasn’t the same.
And I know exactly what you mean when you say it’s hard to explain. Those 12-inch Joes had some weight to them. They felt more real. The cloth uniforms made a difference. It was like you had your one guy, and you were sending him out on missions. The smaller ones were fun, no doubt, but they felt more like pieces of a bigger set instead of your figure.
So let me ask you…
Am I the only one who feels this way, or did those full-size G.I. Joes just hit different?
And be honest… were you one of the lucky ones with all the accessories… or were you like me, arguing with your brother that it wasn’t a doll while still making it work with what you had and having a blast anyway?
